


Without Restrictions

by ice_hot_13



Category: Top Gun (1986)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-22
Updated: 2012-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 19:52:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ice_hot_13/pseuds/ice_hot_13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maverick's mourning Goose and Iceman's acting out of character. It's shaping up to be their final competition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It had been manageable before. Miserable, tense, anxiety-inducing, but manageable. Admittedly, minable because he forced it to be, the type he had to strong arm up against the wall and hold there until it stopped breathing, because he wasn't going to allow  _this_ to screw with his head, but at least before, it had been manageable. Unpleasant. But nothing he couldn't handle.

But this was fucking  _agony._

Iceman leaned against the coolness of the plane, one arm up over his head, forehead against the metal. He drew in a breath, tried not to look. It was making him sick, but damned if he'd let anyone else know what was going on. Logically, he knew beating himself up about it wasn't going to help any- logic? his mind sneered, what was  _that?_ \- but it was involuntary. He'd always had damaging defenses. Letting his guard down would have been the ultimate surrender, because no matter what he was feeling now, that would have felt worse. For now, in this singular moment, he wasn't going to fall apart.

For this moment, anyways.

"Ice-" Slider started in, tentative with concern, but Ice tensed up at the voice.

"Don't even fucking start with me." Ice was practically snarling- that slip of emotion would never happen again, he swore it, but hadn't he said that last time?- "Not  _now."_

Maverick, stalking by after snarling at his temporary RIO and shaking the poor man into a dazed stupor, stared straight at them. That something could break through his seemingly permanent daze was startling, but then again, there was a reason the pilot was called Iceman and not Hothead. His lash of burning temper was equivalent to Maverick's humbleness.

"Fine" Slider's voice was tight, "Not now. But you know what, Ice? It's gonna have to be sometime."

Ice drew in a breath, fist clenched, fought against showing it. What good would it do, showing anything? The reasoning had served him for all these years, suited him well, and sure, he appeared... emotionless, at times, but what was the benefit of being  _emotional?_

"Not necessarily."

"No," Slider was glaring at him, but Ice wasn't going to meet his gaze; he was hyper-aware of both Maverick and his temp RIO staring at them from further down the runway. Both had been so easily distracted from their own near-brawl, Ice hated it. "You fly this fucked-up, and someone's gonna die. Eventually, it's not gonna be about just you."

"Yeah?" Icy tones that had always, always hidden everything, and it had been such a savior, at least until the ice had started to melt, but, consequences be damned, he wasn't going to let go of that coveted stoicism, "It never was."

Maverick stared as Iceman swept by him, but said nothing as usual. The outburst had snapped Maverick out of his half-gone state, and he watched as Ice stormed back into the building, Slider standing mutely by the plane.

"What the hell's up with him?" Anonymous RIO Number Three was at Maverick's side- he didn't know the man's name, he didn't even want to, because, really, what did it matter if the man wasn't Goose?- muttering half to himself, knowing Maverick probably wasn't listening anyways.

"Who knows?" Maverick shook his head, ignoring ARN3's startled look when Maverick acknowledge his existence, "it's the season for issues."

"Funny, and here I was thinking it was spring" ARN3 joked, but Maverick was already gone again.

Within the next hour, though, everything had fled from his mind- from ARN3's failure to replace the irreplaceable to Iceman's uncharacteristically heated behavior- and all that was left was dread.

Charlie was beautiful, and he had the presence of mind to tell her that when he picked her up at her doorstep.

 _Not tonight,_ that voice in his mind murmured- he would never know if it was mercy or cowardice-  _maybe tomorrow. Or the next day._ For all he knew, he'd be saying that every night for the next- how long was he going to drag this out? For tonight, he was going to kiss her and try to forget.

But he'd never been much good at forgetting.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Class dragged on slowly, and Iceman, already tightly wound up beforehand, felt tense with a jumpy sort of energy that was wearing down on his restraint. Running on zero hours of sleep certainly hadn't helped matters much, either; all he had left was that raw, taut energy that was doing more harm than good.

Chalk squeaked against the board; Ice spun a pen between his fingers, tight, short motions, betraying that tense energy. Beside him, Slider was arching an eyebrow, watching this single show of anxiety.

"-as we can see from this diagram, this maneuver will allow greater-"

Something about inverted somethingsomethingsomething. Ice was pretty sure passing out before the lecture was finished would be a despicable breach of protocol or something; he tried not to think on how pathetic it was, that this fact was the only thing holding him to consciousness.  _I'm sure I'll be able to sleep tonight,_ he thought vaguely, just like he'd done every day for the past week. But every time he closed his eyes, he was faced with the thing he hadn't been able to see coming. At the time, he'd never thought it could happen, never even thought to fear it, and now, now it was all he thought about. What he saw changed. He was just waiting for it to get so unbearable that it would steal the rest of his sanity. Maybe then, he would finally get some sleep. Peace of mind might come at a price, but he was starting to see it as a bargain.

Slider leaned towards him, arm around the back of his chair as always, voice soft.

"You okay..?"

Half shrug, quick glance, convincing enough that Slider leaned back, gaze returning to the board.

Maverick wanted to choke ARN4- Anonymous RIO Number Four- because the man wouldn't  _shut up._ They were farther back in the room, so the instructor couldn't hear ANRF's running commentary. The instructor was going over something they'd all heard before, beacuse the dolt in the front row had decided to challenge him on it, springing a tired lecture.

"-and if he thinks we're all gonna jump into the cockpit like happy little fishies and try this, he's crazy, because I could do that before I could  _walk-"_

"Fish can't jump." Maverick's gaze wandered across the rows before them. One row ahead, Merlin was beating Sundown at hangman, even though the word was  _clearly_ "runway".

"Sure they can. You know, I think I remember hearing about these fish that live in trees."

Wolfman was quite possibly asleep, and Hollywood had a permanent pen in hand, hovering over Wolf's neck. Next row over, ARN1 was staring at the clock. Up in front, ARN2 was the smart-mouth that had caused the whole stupid lecture.

"Fish don't live in trees."

Rio was playing Ro-Sham-Bo with Scorch. Slider had his arm slung over Ice's chair, and was staring up at the ceiling. Maverick looked, but he didn't see anything interesting up there.

"These do. I swear someone told me that once. I was in seventh grade, on this hike thing, and the leader person  _said_ so."

Ice was spinning a pen between his fingers, and suffering the consequences of not sleeping all night. Maverick only knew this because he'd accidentally been eavesdropping on Slider's interrogation of Ice. The RIO had his work cut out for him; it must have been like coaxing information out of a brick wall, but worse.

"Why would a fish want to live in a tree?"

"Maybe the view's nicer. Way up in the sky and all?"

"Yeah, but all the other fish are in the  _water."_

Next desk- Maverick looked away.

He didn't want to see where Goose should have been.

"Maybe these fish can't swim."

"Shut up."

After class was when Maverick had an easier time of distracting himself. The rec room was a new addition, and competition for the TV channel was in full swing, particularly because it was Autumn, when football, hockey, baseball and basketball collided.

"IT'S THE GODDAMN PLAYOFFS!" Scorch's voice; apparently, he and Slider had lost and were missing the baseball game.

"Opening kickoff. Fuck off." Sundown, Rio and Wolfman, Maverick was surprised to see, had managed to hold their own in the face of the others; usually, Maverick himself was one of the fighters to watch football, but lately, his heart hadn't been in it, leaving his fellow football fans to fend for themselves. Merlin was quietly sulking about missing basketball, as he frequently did, being the only diehard basketball fan present. Maverick was, however, surprised that hockey hadn't won out; usually Ice and Hollywood put up a good fight, much sneakier than the baseball boys' temper tantrum approach. Sprinting to the rec room and hiding the remote had a way of working out really, really effectively.

Maverick leaned on the back of the couch, trying to focus his attention enough to figure out who they were watching, as Hollywood stalked by.

"Leaving so soon?" he tossed at Hollywood, who made a face at him.

"If it ain't hockey, I ain't watching. Ice was no fuckin' help at getting the channel." The reason why Ice had been so worthless to the cause became apparent when Maverick glanced down and saw that Ice was sprawled on the couch, dead asleep. Seemed like strange behavior for the untouchable Iceman. How he could sleep was a mystery to Maverick, because Rio and Sundown were sitting on the edge of the couch, screaming and cheering like the maniacs they were, jumping up and pumping their fists into the air every time their team did well. Goose's favorite team was playing. Maverick did his best to  _not think about him,_ choosing instead to channel his pain into being a jerk, an effortless pursuit.

"I'd say get a room," he said, swatting at Ice's shoulder, "but it's pathetic if you're sleepin' alone." Ice groaned and turned his face into his sleeve.

"Just fuck  _off,_ Maverick."

Maverick was stunned into momentary silence by the sheer venom in the words, but he wasn't going to think about it much. No one said ice couldn't be made of frozen poison, after all.

"You're an asshole, Mav." Slider informed him unnecessarily, turning around to address him. "you missed taking bets, too."

"I'm not really watching anyways." The hand Slider trailed down Ice's arm didn't escape Maverick's notice, but he couldn't really be bothered to wonder what the hell was up between the pilot and his RIO. "Worried I'm huntin' your property?" Wolfish grin that was harder to find nowadays. Slider flipped him off and shot him a glare. "Territorial, man."

"Why don't you go screw your way into getting an A plus in class, 'stead of hanging around here?" Slider sneered, but before Maverick could snap back, Ice did it for him, a mumbled, irritated snarl.

"Isweartofuckinggodifyoudon'tshutup-" at least, that was what Maverick thought he heard. It was hard to tell. Slider rolled his eyes.

"You're a real jerk when you're tired, you know that Ice?" Slider rubbed Ice's shoulder and Ice just groaned and said nothing.

Maverick walked away, muttering, "and you said  _I_ was weird..."

Slider didn't have the inclination to tell him that, in all honesty, Ice was winning the acting-out-of-character competition, too.

"Huh." Wolfman took the seat vacated by Rio and Sundown; they were too busy dancing around cheering themselves hoarse to sit. "I always thought Ice was a vampire. Guess I was wrong."

"'M not a fuckin' vanmpire." Ice snapped. "You're crazy, Wolf."

"Admittedly, he does sleep." Slider shrugged a shoulder. "I can testify for that." Wolf arched an eyebrow, something like a sneer on his face.

"Yeah, I'll bet you can."

Maybe someone was putting venom in the water at Top Gun.

Or maybe it was just an epidemic.

xxxxxxx

Despite valiant efforts, Maverick felt like he'd lost before he'd even begun. The far-too vivid memory of Goose had followed him on the date with Charlie, singing that song in his ear and Charlie, for some inexplicable reason, hadn't noticed a thing. From eleven to one AM, she'd kept up a steady stream of talk, because she'd been offered a desk job in Washington DC and was debating, back and forth and back and forth, about whether to take it.

Maverick couldn't exactly remember what he'd advised. Dropping her off at home, he remembered a goodbye kiss and something about telling her she should do what she wanted, and he just hoped to God he'd worded it in a kind, sympathetic manner. All he could remember with clarity was that the entire time, memories of Goose had been replaying in his mind, haunting and reeling and circling around again and again, and through that haze, it was hard to recall anything else that had happened. He was walking along the marina on the way back; some lapse in judgment had let him agree to Charlie driving them to the restaurant, leaving him without a ride on the way back to the dorm buildings, but it wasn't terribly cold that morning, nor was it a long walk home, so he wasn't going to complain.

Besides, who did he have to complain to? Ghosts haunting his mind couldn't hear him.

Since Goose's death, Maverick hadn't had a single moment that wasn't haunted by his memory. Guilt and grief clashed together in a storm of misery, until he wasn't sure who he was anymore, didn't know why he did what he did, couldn't even tell what to do now.

Halfway back, Maverick came to the conclusion that it wasn't normal, that he had no adverse reaction to Charlie's job offer. For some reason, the idea of Charlie moving across the entire country didn't have much of a striking effect. Grief had, it seemed, robbed him of every other emotion. Left him with burning grief and turned everything else to ice.

The ocean was a dark, endless stretch on his right, beyond the railing and beyond the beach below, until it melded with the black sky and lost visibility. Maverick had passed very few people on the way back- a few partiers stumbling home, one over-achiever out jogging- and hadn't expected to run into anyone he knew. It took him several moments before he realized Ice was a few yards from him, leaning on the railing and looking out at the darkness that was the sky or the ocean.

"Insomnia much?" His voice made Ice almost flinch, but Ice brushed that off almost instantly, giving a noncommittal shrug. He glanced Maverick over for a moment, eyes that weren't the arctic blue Maverick thought they should be, then away.

"I'm not gonna lose tomorrow," self-assured, like he'd perfected the art of flying while exhausted, "if that's what you're hoping for."

What  _was_ he hoping for? Hell if Maverick himself knew. He jammed his hands deeper in his pockets, frowning at Ice. "Just don't get yourself killed up there later."

"Yeah? It'd give you a shot at the trophy." Before Maverick could so much as form a response, Ice had tossed a last cool look at him and gone. It was just like him- almost. Just a beat off. A shade too hesitant, a hint too tightly wound. For a moment, Maverick felt bad about chasing Ice away from his early-morning haunt, but the feeling passed, and he started back too.

Lost for anything else to do, Ice found himself lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling and not sleeping. He was reluctant to try, lest he return to the same unconscious place he'd been before. Last time had been a new form, he'd seen the results, and he'd never seen it as something so tangible before. He'd seen himself in that court room, dressed in his white uniform, standing straight, measured voices telling him what he already knew,  _at fault at fault at fault._

Ice hated that nightmares were ruining him, but was powerless to change what was happening.


	2. Chapter 2

Spike. Dive. Hit. Score.

Gloating. High-fiving. Swearing. Shouting.

Spike. Dive. Hit. Score.

The cycle repeated itself for the umpteenth time. Maverick leaned against the wall of the phone booth, watching the volleyball court a short ways away. There was no mistaking the players; Ice and Slider, thoroughly beating Merlin and Rio, probably not for the first time that afternoon.

"-he's just started school again, so it's a nice distraction-" Carole's voice over the phone, as Maverick tried to bring himself back to the conversation at hand, about Goose's son. "Has playdates with his friends and all, so he's doing all right." She was the best mother their son could have had. Maverick blinked and realized that the thought was not his own. Goose had said that, multiple times before.

They were playing with a lot of rage that day, Maverick noticed. Not just Ice, but Slider too, as if one's edgy behavior spiked the other's irritability in a vicious cycle.

"-I heard Charlie got offered a desk job in Washington" Carole was saying. Maverick nodded, then realized she couldn't see that.

"Yeah. Dunno if she's gonna go. How'd you find out?"

"We talk every few weeks. She's quite wonderful, if you don't marry her, we'll all wonder about your sanity." Laughter like bells, (that was Goose talking again), and Maverick attempted to find amusement in it too.

After he'd hung up, he wandered over to watch the game, for lack of anything better to do. ARN4 greeted him enthusiastically, sitting on the lowest bench of the bleachers. "They're losing" he informed Maverick as the pilot sat beside him.

"Who?"

"Who do you think?" ARN4 snorted, shaking his head, "Rio and Merlin. They should've given up ages ago." As he spoke, sand sprayed at them when Merlin hit the ground, missing the volleyball entirely.

"Not much good, are they?"

"Well, up against those two." He waved a hand towards the other side of the court. "if it were me, I'd be running thataway." ARN4 pointed in the opposite direction, "and  _fast."_

Maverick leaned back on his hands, watching as Merlin hurled the ball at Ice, who caught it with that ease that always irritated the opponents. Sweat glistened on tan skin, Slider throwing taunts, Ice's body flexing as he served, Slider leaping up to slam the ball over the net, Ice diving down and sending up a spew of sand, an untouchable, well-tuned team. If he focused on that side of the court enough, Maverick found that he could almost, almost put himself back in that old memory. Miraculously, ARN5 didn't say anything, so Maverick's memory could offer up old snatches of voice, and if he watched closely enough, the image was similar enough that it was almost like he was back there. God, how he wished he really was. He could almost  _hear_ Goose's voice, feel Goose's arm around his shoulders, see his grin. And he almost was there.

Ice tried to focus on the ball in his hand, he really did. But  _damnit,_ Maverick was just  _staring,_ and it was unnerving him like nothing else. His first serve smashed straight into the sand, their side of the net. Slider arched an eyebrow but didn't say anything as he retrieved the ball. Maverick was still staring, thoughtful look on his face. Ice clenched his jaw and doubled his efforts to pay attention. The next serve worked well enough, got tossed back up, and Slider set it in an arc back across the net, only to have it returned again. Ice slammed it back, but his gaze flickered back to Maverick almost immediately.  _Stop staring, goddamnit._ Maverick didn't heed the silent plea, and Ice wasn't about to disgrace himself enough to the point of actually begging.  _Stop stop stop stop._ He'd had about enough of Maverick's offbeat behavior. First Maverick was sneaking up on him at one AM, and now he was flat-out staring. Bastard was messing with him now.

And Ice hated head games.

Maverick kept on staring. For the next  _half hour._

"So? You in?" Somehow, in the midst of Ice's silent rant at Maverick, the game had ended and Wolf and Hollywood- where had Rio and Merlin gone, Ice wondered- were standing before him and Slider. Game over, and he didn't even know who had won.

"To?"

"Meet that girl." Hollywood supplied. "There was this girl last time I was talking to that wanted to meet you. Wanna?"

"Oh." He wondered if Maverick was still staring. "No." He didn't want to look. "I don't." He could see, in the reflection on Hollywood's sunglasses, that Maverick was staring at the side of the court they'd just left. Just gazing at the empty sand like it held some sort of answer for him. The realization was somehow dampening.

"No? C'mon, man, I saw her, she's pretty hot." Wolf added, but Ice shook his head no. He didn't much care.

"I don't do the mutual friends thing. It's demoralizing." And they laughed, but he didn't know why, he was just glad they couldn't see through him. He'd always thought ice was transparent, but maybe, if there was enough of it...

"Man, how come girls are always throwing themselves at you, anyways?" Hollywood was borderline pouting, muttering something about guys that always got pussy, and Wolf was rolling his eyes and saying that maybe the girls were trying to hint at something.

Yes, Ice saw, almost wished he didn't, enough icy apathy, and no one would be able to see a thing.

The bar never really changed. The people had all changed- Maverick quieter, Charlie brighter, Ice edgier- but it hadn't. Ice could still glance away from where he stood with Slider, Wolfman and Hollywood, and see where each single little event had happened.

There, he'd shaken that ditz off his arm and snuck away.

"No one said you make it look good" Hollywood's voice.

"Or bad. Not directly, in any case." Slider's, defending Wolfman, for some unfathomable reason.

"So what're you guys saying? I  _know_ I'm a sexy beast when I fly-" Wolfman's voice.

"Arrogant bastard. Wanna use those good looks and get me that girl over there?"

"What's'a matter, Wood, can't do it on your own?"

And there, the girl that half the guys had been after all night had approached him, and he'd tried to pretend like he cared.

"We can't all look like you, Wolf."

"You see, Wood? You're supposed to be  _nice_ to me. How come Slider's got it down better than my own RIO?"

"Because he doesn't have to fly with such a cocky bastard every single day and get driven crazy, that's why."

There, Maverick had done his little song and dance to get Charlie; far as Ice knew, it had worked.

"And now you're calling me cocky? Thanks a lot. Maybe I'll swap RIO's with Iceman."

"I'd like to see you try to fly without me. Wanna convince me to stay by talkin' that girl into coming over here?"

"You're pathetic, Wood. I have dibs on her, anyways"

"You  _do?"_ Slider's voice, hint of bitterness.

"Jealous?" Hollywood again. "Me too. I'll hit him, you hide the body."

And there, that was where he'd first really spoken to Maverick.

"I'm right  _here,_ for chrissake! You can't plot my murder right in front of me!"

"Don't worry, we won't murder you." Slider, smirking.

"Thank you."

"At least, not until we get what we want."

"Dear God..."

And right there, that was where he always was, and over there, that was where Maverick always was. Was Maverick able to see the same floor map?

"I think I'm gonna head home. Don't wanna fly hungover." Wolf's voice, and Slider was saying that it might improve his performance, and may have set himself up for some sort of sneering joke, but Ice wasn't really listening. He leaned back against the counter, watching more than listening as Hollywood smirked and said something. In the far corner, Maverick was with Charlie, probably finishing up a date. Ice sipped his drink- he didn't actually know what it was, but he knew that whatever he was drinking, he'd be out cold if he drank it any faster than a sip every ten minutes- and just watched. Charlie was blathering on- Ice wondered where  _that_  bias had come from, he didn't have any reason to dislike her, other than the fact that she gave boring lectures- and Maverick was just nodding along and not saying much. Kind of unlike him.

"Ya think so? How bout you, Ice?" Wolf's voice. Ice nodded and tuned him completely out. Maverick wasn't saying anything. Fake smile. Then he was kissing her and looking so far away, like his mind was miles and miles away.  _Doesn't she have any clue at all?_ Ice was mildly disgusted by her oblivious attitude. If  _his_ lover- well, that right there was a big fucking joke, his  _what?-_  was acting so... so  _distant,_ he'd definitely take note and  _do_ something about it. He wouldn't let his lover suffer like that.

Then again, there was a very good reason he  _had_ no lover.

"Think I'll head out too." Ice said to no one in particular, setting his half-empty glass on the counter. Wolf had already gone, Hollywood was drifting towards some scantily-clad girl, and Slider was still there. Ice could have known  _that_  without even looking.

"Goin' home?" Slider asked. Ice shrugged, like he had anywhere else to go. Slider seemed to interpret that as indifference. "Hell, Ice, what's so bad about it?"

"My bed's freezing, that's what." His irritation expressed itself in obscure ways, he'd come to find. Ice wasn't sure if he liked that or not.

"Am I gonna have to make sure you sleep so you don't get us killed tomorrow?" Arched eyebrow and curious look from the RIO, and Ice felt himself slipping away.

"Might have to."

He hadn't meant to cross lines. Using him was one thing. This was another. Maybe he was more drunk than he'd thought.

So Ice didn't know why- exhaustion, desperation, irritation, inebriation, just plain coldness- he ended up sheepherding the mildly intoxicated Slider home and ended up, sleepless, in another bed, refusing to re-enter the nightmare of a hospital room he'd never seen.

 _I didn't mean to kill him,_ his own voice, vivid even through the haze surrounding the escaped nightmare,  _I swear I didn't. He'll be fine!_ And that other voice, cold as his own must sound to everyone else,

_"Will_ _**you?** _ _"_

Ice turned towards the wall, Slider out cold on the other side of the bed, ( _what if_ , Ice's thoughts murmured,  _he had my handprints all over him? Could I live with that?)_ and he refused to think about it any more.

_I didn't. I swear it. I'm not- I'm not- I'm not-_

Maverick was thinking about Goose, about volleyball, about Ice, but not her, not once. He may have been lying next to Charlie, who was contentedly asleep on the other side of the bed, but he wasn't thinking about her. He gave her a passing thought- he realized he had a  _side_ of the bed, and the fact that he was there so often wasn't as natural as he thought it should have been in this case, but not a direct thought.

He was thinking about how Goose had liked to complain about the heat, how it had been the sort of day when Goose would have taken his kid to the pool if he'd been at home, how dragging himself away from the sand to shrug on a jacket and find his motorcycle hadn't been easy, how Goose had the shittiest set he'd ever seen, how his own spiking was probably even worse in form, how Slider never missed a chance to gloat, how Ice looked as he dived against the sand and somehow made it look like the most graceful sort of fall on Earth.

And then Maverick's thoughts were drifting again, farther from the bedroom, farther. Thinking about how Goose didn't ever know what the score was, how Maverick himself made every effort to keep score, short of writing it in permanent pen on his wrist (he'd tried that once, but it had worn away from all the sand and sweat). How Slider couldn't serve to save his life and always lobbed the ball over to Iceman to do it instead. How his dogtags would threaten to strangle him and sunglasses would threaten to fall off. How Merlin couldn't seem to cheer for the same team twice, how Wolfman couldn't be bothered to cheer at all, how Hollywood couldn't seem to sit through a single game. How Goose would have been happy whether they won or lost, because he just liked the game. How when Maverick would look across the court, he'd see Ice and he'd wonder if Ice was trying to kill him with a volleyball, and if he was, thinking that it was a pretty lame weapon, and feel like the man was just  _devouring_  him with that gaze.

But most of all, Maverick wasn't thinking about her, except to worry about how he wasn't, and then, he supposed, that counted as thinking about her, so it had to be all right. He wasn't  _not_ thinking about her, so he  _couldn't_ be wrong.

_I'm not- I'm not- I'm not-_

But both of them were, were everything they wished they weren't.


	3. Chapter 3

Slider was more than bewildered. He'd woken up to find himself back at home- but he remembered that. Maybe not every second of the trip back, but he remembered enough. What he didn't think he could forget, however, was the reason Iceman was right there. Right there  _in his bed._

Oh, right. Slider sighed. He'd basically invited Iceman, like some sort of shameless... he didn't want to think about it.

And Ice was way on the other side of the bed, the side against the wall, and he was buried under blankets, back to Slider, pillow scrunched under his head, and seemed dead asleep. And while that was all very interesting, Slider couldn't say he wasn't disappointed when he saw that Ice was wearing clothing. This, by association, meant his clothing had stayed on all night, and  _that_ meant that Slider hadn't slept with him, and that realization didn't exactly brighten his morning. He'd passed up a  _damn_ good opportunity, and that was enough to ruin the rest of his day, he already knew it.

When Ice woke up, he was alone and, he was dismayed to note, still freezing cold. He heard Slider's voice, and that was when he realized that he'd been stupid enough to take Slider up on his offer.

But, alarmingly enough, he couldn't bring himself to care.

"You're late." Slider was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, "Just so you know."

"Late?" Ice looked around for a clock.

"Have to leave in four minutes if you want to be on time for class." This spurned a quiet storm of curses as Ice crawled off Slider's bed (he didn't want to think about how that sounded). "And you look like hell, by the way."

"You're just all good news today, aren't you?" He rolled his eyes, looking down at his decidedly rumpled clothing. He would have been more irritated about the messy state if he hadn't been so relieved that he hadn't whored himself out like he'd thought he might have been desperate enough to do. He sent a meaningful look at Slider's closet and Slider shrugged.

"Knock yourself out." So even though it killed him, Ice stole Slider's spare long-sleeved uniform and showed up in class with four seconds to spare, shirtsleeves too long and the hems of his pants treading under his heel.

Slider was silently fuming about something, and Ice had a rough idea of what it was, but no way was he going to breach that topic. Ice just slid into his seat, Slider's arm already resting on the back of his chair, and tried to pay attention.

The occupants of the back of the room were having the same attention problems.

"I spy..."

Maverick sent a glare at ARN4 that clearly  _dared_ the RIO to finished his sentence, but the gunner didn't even notice.

"Oooh, I spy a one night stand that accidentally went on till morning."

"What the fuck does that mean?" Maverick hissed, but ARN4 just grinned and sat back in his chair, looking pleased with himself. Maverick had no choice but to keep his fuming to himself and look around the room instead. Playing along was the only way to get ARN4 to shut up. "Don't I get a  _hint_ or something?"

"I also spy something... this colored." He pointed to his own sleeve, the same color as everyone else's uniform. Maverick frowned. He wondered, momentarily, whether he should be paying attention, seeing as it was Charlie who was giving the lecture, but the thought was merely in passing, nothing concrete enough to enforce.

"Okay..." Maverick looked around almost suspiciously. He supposed he was just looking for something that was somehow out of the ordinary. One night stand that had gone on too long, he mused, would imply... something, involving clothing. Couldn't be too difficult. He skimmed through the rows, finding little. Scorch was wearing his long-sleeved shirt because yesterday, there had been an incident with alcohol and his other shirt, so this one had been dragged out of his drawers, and the burn mark on this left sleeve, the reason the shirt had disappeared into his dresser, was still visible.  _Pyromaniac,_ Maverick thought vaguely, moving on. Rio had a scarf on, but he'd been seen with some random girl the previous night and getting interested, so there was nothing strange there. Nothing else stood out as Maverick kept looking. ARN4 was smirking, pleased with himself. Maverick kept at it. He didn't like Slider's sunglasses, he decided.

And then, moving on, he found what he was looking for, and the realization shouldn't have been shocking, they'd all suspected it, but the physical evidence was staring him in the face, and it was flooring.

"WHAT?!"

Perhaps too flooring.

Maverick's sudden outburst made Charlie look irritated, but she had to wipe the smile off her face first. This was the Maverick they all knew, and finally seemed to be coming back.

"Something you'd like to say, Lieutenant?" She asked mildly. Everyone was staring at him. Maverick's startled gaze flickered from Charlie's crystal-blue eyes to Wolf's  _you lunatic_ stare, to Iceman's  _I see you're still crazy_ look, and then back at Charlie.

"No."

After class, Iceman was smirking when he came up to Maverick in the hall. Before he could say anything, Maverick shot him an even more smug look, reaching out and snagging the end of Iceman's sleeve in his hand. ARN4 had spied the turned-back sleeves and dragging hems of the uniform that belonged to someone taller than the pilot who wore the uniform.

"So, how  _was_ Slider?" This earned Maverick a cold look from Iceman.

And Ice was debating-  _could I make him feel-_ but that had always been his style, he couldn't really give it much thought. So he just gave Maverick that smirk that managed to instill two doubts in Maverick- what had happened, and how it had been, and just walked away.

cxxxxxxxxx

Maverick wasn't  _jealous._

At least, that was what he kept trying to convince himself. Why would he be, he told himself, just because Slider was sleeping with that arrogant, smirking blonde. He had no reason to be anything like jealous.

Well, Maverick's thoughts interrupted himself, if he thought Ice was an  _attractive_ arrogant, smirking blonde, then he'd have a reason to be.

Which brought him to the point of whether he thought that or not.

It was like over-stimulation of his battered emotions. After what felt like a shutdown of everything but that horrible, heart-wrenching grief, the sudden upheaval of jealousy was like a shock to his taxed system.

"HAH!"

Maverick about jumped a mile when ARN4 nearly pounced on him.

"What the  _fuck_ is your  _problem?!"_

"They really DO live in trees!" ARN4 was all-but 000

Maverick sank lower into the couch cushions, send a glare up at ARN4 that made it clear that he was contemplating murder.

"This fish! The mangrove killifish!"

Maverick just stared at him, wondering if perhaps the stress of flying with him was taking its toll on ARN4. He'd almost resolved to be a touch nicer to the RIO, but then he remembered that, really, ARN4 was  _always_ like this.

"Swear to God! It lives in trees!" ARN4 was waving his arms and practically jumping up and down, "Like I  _said!_ I  _told_ you!"

"That's great." Maverick leaned around him to see what was happening onscreen. He wasn't a fan of hockey, but he'd figured- well, Maverick didn't want to think about what he'd been trying to do.

Or who he'd been trying to lure into the room.

"Wow, have we finally converted you?" Hollywood's voice, suddenly right next to him, made Maverick jump. Hollywood had climbed over the couch to sit and watch the game, grabbing the remote from Maverick's hands and turning up the volume while ARN4 continued to babble about fish.

"-up in  _trees,_ the mangrove, it like, changes how it breathes or something-"

"Isn't there a football game on?" Wolfman was asking hopefully, leaning over the back of the couch, one arm slung over Hollywood's shoulder, the other hand tilting his cowboy hat back so he could see better. "Come  _on,_ Mav..."

"You hate hockey." Hollywood pointed out to Maverick as Wolf tried his hand at gymnastics, leaning way over to try and swipe the remote from Hollywood's hands. His hat had tumbled off and one foot kicked at the air behind him, and despite all the near-acrobatics, the remote stayed in Hollywood's hand. Maverick just shrugged a shoulder, watched Wolf fall over the back of the couch onto the space between them, climbing over Hollywood, still going after the remote. Both forgot about him within seconds, as Hollywood caught Wolf across the chest with one arm, holding Wolf against him and keeping the remote at arm's reach.

"No fair, Wood!" Wolf squirmed and flailed, hands grabbing for the remote that was out of his reach. Hollywood just grinned and tightened his hold on the wiggling RIO, who was protesting loudly and making wild attempts to grab the remote. Maverick inched away so he wouldn't get kicked, because it turned out that Wolf was wildly ticklish and was writhing in Hollywood's grip.

"Fish?" Merlin's voice, as the RIO crossed the room and flopped into an armchair to look up at ARN4. "Seriously?"

"They live in trees." ARN4 said stonily, "swear to god."

"Not any fish I've ever seen." He leaned back in the chair, gaze drifting from ARN4 to the screen, and then over to where Hollywood was still restraining the squirming Wolf in his lap from getting at the TV remote. Maverick didn't miss the odd, remorseful look that appeared on Merlin's face for a heartbeat, before it had been replaced by a look of such apathy, it might have rivaled Ice's.

"Hah!" Wolf had finally snagged the remote, jerking it out of Hollywood's hands and changing the channel to football instead. Maverick frowned, but Wolf didn't even notice. He kept the channel on his chosen game, and didn't move from where he was sprawled across Hollywood's lap. "Better luck next time, Wood." Hollywood just sighed and swatted at Wolf's head, but couldn't hide a smile.

Maverick sprawled back, watching the screen but seeing nothing.

He wasn't jealous.

That would be dangerous.

xxxx

"What'd Maverick want with you this morning?" Slider asked at the next opportunity, at the end of the day in the locker room. He was leaning against the lockers, clad in only a towel, like Ice, the last ones left in the locker room. Ice ran a hand through his wet hair, feigning indifference.

Maverick's inquiry had surprised him, and Ice didn't respond well to shock, which was to say, he responded in just how he would have if he'd gone on mere impulse. His impulse had been to attempt to make Maverick feel  _jealous,_ it was a natural, irrelevant reaction, natural to him as his self-confidence.

He didn't want to think there was any other reason to it.

"Wanted to know if I'm fucking you or not."  _Why not be blunt?_ he thought, and his apathy concerned even him. And Slider was looking at him with a question on his face.

"Are you?" If he was expecting some sort of visible reaction, Slider was disappointed, as well as delusional. Iceman merely shrugged, conspicuously looked him up and down.

_Would my handprints look good anywhere?_

But the lack of modesty had already answered for him.

"I don't know. Am I?"

And when Slider smirked like that, Ice knew, he just knew, that what was once a mess was now a disaster, but he just couldn't bring himself to care.

"Maybe you are."

Ice glanced at him, apathy all over.

"Maybe I am."

He'd bypassed that devil-may-care attitude long, long ago, Ice realized, as he slammed Slider against the lockers, as he thrust his tongue into the mouth that eagerly opened for him, he was beyond that. That would have taken indignance, taken interest, and Ice had nothing but that frozen-over void, deceiving in its empty depth. He knew he had emotions, as he trailed his touch downwards, as he kissed harder, he just didn't know where to find them anymore, as he didn't really hear Slider's moans, as he didn't quite register what those hands were doing to him, as he imagined it was someone else.

Ice had never been so far detached from all emotion. It would have scared him, if he'd been able to achieve such an emotional involvement. But everything was gone, fear included, and he no longer knew how to find them again. No longer remembered how to feel, or even why he should.

He didn't know that even the distant heat of anger could slowly, slowly melt the icy restraints that imprisoned his emotions, as he gasped aloud and, for a fleeting moment, imagined that was Maverick's touch.

If he'd known, he might have been more careful.


	4. Chapter 4

Walking in on that had been, Hollywood decided, one of the most scarring moments of his life. He'd all-but bolted out of the shower room, dragging the open-mouthed Wolfman after him.

"Holy-fucking-hell-" Wolf was gasping, as Hollywood towed him back to the locker room area. It was another minute after the door finally closed and the other two were gone before Wolf said anything.

"I didn't know they were-" Wolf made a loose gesture with his hand, circling. He'd slumped back against the lockers next to where Hollywood stood.

"What? Don't say together." Hollywood ran a hand through his wet hair. "Just don't." The hems of his jeans soaked up water where he stepped on a puddle.

"Why can't I?"

"Because I'd think you were an idiot, and I'm trying to save you here." Inwardly, Hollywood cringed. Abusing his RIO probably wouldn't convey what he wanted to. "Besides, they're probably not, beacuse I swear to God he's after you. So please don't be an idiot."

"Thanks, Wood, I really appreciate that." Wolf rolled his eyes, tilting his head back.

"My pleasure."

"No, you know what your  _pleasure_ really ought to be?"

"Uh... you?"

The words had slipped out before he'd had a chance to think about it.

"I'm game if you are." That crooked little smile.

"You really coming on to me that much? Damn, Wolf."

 _Please don't take it back,_ his mind was whispering, whimpering,  _I won't take it back if you do'nt take it back._

"I don't know. Can I?"

"I don't know. Can you?" Intresting, how quickly Hollywood found he was able to forget about what they'd just seen.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean... will you?"

"You're making my head hurt, Wood. what are you saying?"

"I'm saying... I'm saying..." Hollywood shook his head, "I'm just saying that he's been kissing up to you, for chrissake, and that's why they're not 'together.'"

"So what? Let him."

" _No._ I don't-"

"What?" Wolf turned those chocolate brown eyes to him, curiosity running wild like always.

"I don't want him to."

"What does this have to do with  _you?"_

"I... nothing." Nothing, really. Hollywood couldn't think of a single reason, except, of course-

"Jealous?"

Hollywood's gaze snapped up to meet Wolf's.

"Don't joke about that."

And Wolf just looked at him in that too-wholly-honest way he had, like he'd never figured out how to lie, how to hide anything. "I'm sorry." Reuctant, like he'd already known.

"It's okay."

They waited in silence for a few moments.

"Were you serious?" Wolf finally ventured.

"About?"

"Not wanting him to."

"Yeah. I hate it. "

And Wolf was just watching him.

"Why?"

"I don't know. Beacuse he's being a jerk, that's why." Hollywood tossed his towel aside, yanking his shirt from his locker. "Let him fuck Iceman. Who really cares? I'd rather that than him kissing up to you."

He could see that little taunt on Wolf's lips, but Wolf, thank God, didn't say it.

"I think I'm gonna take my showers at two AM from now on."

"Yeah?" Wolf's comment had quirked a smile from Hollywood, "why's that?"

"I don't wanna walk in on any more of that. I might have already lost my innocence, but I'm pretty fond of my sanity."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ice just about got himself killed just by walking out on the runway. Two steps, and he tripped over something and hit the ground.

Maverick's snicker made him growl and hasten to his feet. The other pilot was lying on the ground, staring up at the sky, arms behind his head like he had every damn right to be there.

"Whare are you  _doing?"_

"What does it look like? Studying." Maverick tossed a hand up to indicate the sky above them. Ice looked up, then back down at him.

"Did you get hit in the head or something?"

"Loosen up, would you?" Maverick adjusted his mirrored sunglasses. "Besides, I'm also plotting."

"What the hell could you be plotting?"

"Manslaughter. Avial manslaughter."

"What did your RIO do now that makes you want to run him down with a plane?"

"Oh, the usual. Talking about tree fish and goldfish and how if you leave them in the dark, they turn white."

"Uh...huh..."

"And he's a liar, too."

"That right." Ice was looking out across the runway.

"Yeah. Apparantly, Hollywood and Wolf told ARN4-"

"Who?"

"You know, cowboy hat boy and-"

"The other one, Mitchell. Who the hell is AR-whatever?" He crossed his arms, looking down at Maverick.

"Anonymous Rio Number Four." Maverick fell silent after that, until Ice was debating walking away. He stared out at the empty expanse of concrete, knowing Maverick was just waiting for him to ask.

Goddamn curiosity.

"And what did they tell him?"

"That they saw you and Slider in the showers and-" Maverick broke off with a grin when he saw Ice's momentarily shocked look. "So he  _wasn't_ lying?"

Ice swore silently, trying to calculate exactly how he could convince Maverick it was just a rumor, but Maverick was standing and staring right at him.

Ice figured he could just quit it and give up because it clearly wasn't working.

"Slider, huh. Couldn't find someone better?"

Then again, Ice thought, maybe he shouldn't give up quite yet.

"What, wish it was you?" Ice would never tire of the sadistic satisfaction of a well-timed retort. Maverick was glowering, all fire to the other pilot's ice. "Don't know why you're surprised. After all, he  _is_ taller..."

"Listen, Kaza...nask...ani-" The threat diminished significantly as Maverick stumbled over hte name. Ice smirked. "I don't care  _who_ you're fucking. Got that?"

Ice just gave him the cool smile that said he understood perfectly, but not what Maverick was saying.

And it unnerved Maverick like hell.

xxxxxxxx

The dogfight had been the worst in a long time.

Ice bailed as Maverick's wingman, left him for dead before Jester's aim, and then Hollywood spent more time, as Viper put it, chasing butterflies than Ice's plane.

Ice had stalked off shortly after landing, leaving Slider to make his way back slowly, the lecture he'd been planning to throw at ice silently simmering into nothing.

"Can I talk to you?" Hollywood caught up to him, ahead of the rest of the pilots and RIOs. Slider shrugged a shoulder, kept walking. "Listen, Slider. Why the fuck are you kissing up to Wolf?" He stopped at the entrance to the main building, the others wandering past them.

"I'm not." It sounded like a lie, even to Slider himself. He had. He'd been kissing up like his life depended on it.

"No, you are." Hollywood growled, and Slider wouldn't take a step back, even if he'd wanted to, "what do you want from him?"

"Why?" Slider laughed shortly, humorlessly, "worried I'm gonna steal him from ya?" He nearly yelped in shock when Hollywood shoved him up against the wall, dark eyes blazing the anger from the threat of losing a near-victory that would be hard-won.

But, ultimately, anger like loss. Like loss and like theft and like betrayal.

"Fuck off, Slider." And Hollywood stepped away like he couldn't stand another second of contact, and stalked away.

Hollywood stayed there, looking up at the cloudless sky, and tried, for a few minutes, to forget the mess he'd gotten himself into.

Later, nearly everyone had left the locker room, until only Maverick and Ice were left. Maverick wouldn't say he'd planned it, but he wouldn't say he wasn't lucky, either.

Now he wasn't the one running wayward. Ice was ahead, but Maverick would have to have been blind not to have noticed everything else. He turned to face Ice, who was poking around in his own locker, silent.

"You're fucked up."

The sharp words made Ice face him, that cool glare on his face.

"Who're  _you_ to talk?" Ice wasn't acting strange now, but Maverick knew, just knew, a little longer and he'd lose that cool, and, in the moments before it was gone, he'd be gone too. Maverick wanted to see Ice  _feel_ something like that.

It wasn't enough that Ice was snapping at people more often, that he was leaving silences where there should have been retorts. Maverick wanted more.

"Did I say  _I_  wasn't messed up? No, I didn't." Maverick felt like he was prattling on, but no way was he letting Iceman leave. Once determined, he was like a train wreck. Unstoppable. And dangerous. So dangerous. "I know I am, and everyone else does too. I wouldn't say I've got a reason, but at least I've got an explanation. You, though? You've got nothing." He could see this was getting to Ice, see the way the pilot clenched his jaw and glared, and it was like watching ice melt, watching Ice melt, "That stunt you pulled today? Ditching wingman is  _my_ gig, not yours."

"So what? You can get away with it and I can't?" He sounded terse.  _Just a little more,_ Maverick thought, and he knew it was so twisted, that he was _trying_ to get Ice to break.

"Oh, you can, you proved that one to us, because you  _did_. But it's not in the rule book, so  _you_ wouldn't do it, not if you were actin' like yourself. Who's dangerous  _now?"_ Breaking point on the horizon. "Slider couldn't coax it out of you, so I thought I'd give a go at forcing it outta you. What the  _hell_ is going on with you? Because you keep this up, and you're gonna put us  _all_ in danger, because it's not  _about_ you anymore."

"I  _know_ that" Hissing, like biting anger escaping, "I know it's not about me." And he tried, tried to shove Maverick aside so he could leave, but Maverick could see it, see that prize, see that Ice was going to break.

"You're right, it's sure as hell not about you. But you know what? It's  _because_ of you. You're being a head case, and still insisting you're fine."

 _Break, break, break,_ he begged silently,  _I want to see you break,_ and he didn't know why. "Well, know what, Ice? You're not! You're not fuckin' fine! You're a wreck!"

And again, Ice tried to shove past him- was he crying, behind those glasses? Maverick wondered, wondered so much- but Maverick wasn't going to let him get out that easy. He slammed Ice back against the lockers, and because he knew he wouldn't win in a test of strength, didn't even try. He crushed his lips against Ice's, pushing one knee between Ice's legs to keep him there. Ice might have gasped, and didn't move. Maverick hesitated for a moment, drawing back a fraction, but then Ice's lips were on his again, and Maverick ceased to think. He didn't taste like Maverick thought he might have- he'd thought about it, much as he hated to admit it, how he'd dwelled upon the idea, late at night- he didn't taste like clear, frozen water. He was something more hot than sweet, and his hand on Maverick's arm made Maverick press him back against the lockers harder, no longer blocking his escape.

Maybe, he thought, as Ice's moans were all he could hear, maybe he'd wanted Ice to break, to show emotion, because that would take some emotion away from him.

Even after Ice had slipped out of the locker room, the tide of emotions stayed at bay, like somehow, Ice's taste on Maverick's lips was keeping him from falling apart.

Maverick leaned back against the lockers, tongue tracing his bottom lip, and wondered if that was perhaps the most dangerous thing he'd ever done.


	5. Chapter 5

It was like a constant reminder. He knew it was supposed to be out of sympathy, but all it made him think of was how he wasn't the same person anymore.

He missed that thrill of bitter excitement he used to get, but now Ice was looking away and shrugging when Maverick challenged him.

"Beats me," Ice said, when Maverick demanded to know if Ice thought Maverick could beat him, "You might be able to." Maverick growled at that. The other pilots had long since gone into the building, leaving them in the light of the sundown, alone.

"Stop fuckin' doing that! Just because my gunner died doesn't mean you've got to- to go  _easy_ on me! I didn't suddenly get all pathetic! I don't need pity!"

He didn't need pity, that much was true, and he didn't want Ice or anyone else to go easy on him.

He wanted someone to understand, and to convince him that he'd be able to keep on living without Goose.

Ice just looked at him for a moment. "Did you ever think I'm doing it because-"  _I care?_ Ice's mind hissed, "I don't want to-"  _hurt you._

"What?"

"I don't know." Ice turned away, looking up at the ever-blue sky that was fading to an uncovered pink, "maybe I just like how it's messing with your head."

And he left Maverick there.

Maverick followed after him, with the intent to demand more of an answer, but he never got to. Coming into the locker room mere steps later, he heard voices.

"Not now." Ice's voice, the words ground out in a smoldering sort of anger. "Goddamnit, Slider,  _not now."_

"You always say that." Slider shot back, "every single time, and I don't  _care._ I just don't want you to fall apart on us!"

Maverick didn't move out of the doorway, not daring to even approach the row of lockers. On the other side, he could hear Slider and Ice; of course Slider would be mad, Ice's flying had been uncharacteristic, had been borderline  _dangerous._

"So I won't fly." Ice sneered, slamming his locker door closed, "happy now?"

"You know that's not why I'm here." Slider's voice, tight with frustration.

"No? Then why are you here, Slider? Why don't you just leave me alone?" Ice's voice was measured and flat, a sheet of frost that wasn't going to melt, not ever. Maverick was holding his breath, didn't even want to think about what would happen if one of them happened to glance his way.

"Maybe it's because I know you better than you do." Slider hissed, "Maybe it's because I know that you can't take this any longer, whatever the hell  _this_ is. Because something changed and I'd be an  _idiot_ if I didn't notice."

"Nothing really  _changed."_ Ice insisted stonily.

"I can tell, you know, when it's not competition that's got you all screwed over." In the reflection on the other wall's mirror, Maverick could just see them, Ice by his locker, Slider glaring, glaring at him.

"Who says it's not?" Iceman shot back, "What if it is? What if it's all some terrible competition, and I'm  _always going to lose?"_  
Slider just looked at him, and by some miracle, knew that no matter what he said on the subject, he'd be going too far.

"What happened, Ice?" Taut, warning tone. Ice practically snarled.

"I killed Goose."

Maverick didn't feel the usual trembling, heated panic when thinking of that moment. A numb detachment stormed his mind, forcing his memory out of his own plane, to speculate on what had happened in the other. Jetwash didn't materialize out of nothing.

"Ice-" Slider's voice, but not like he was talking Ice out of it, more like he was trying to keep Ice from getting too much into it.

"I fucked up and it was my jetwash that got them. It's my fault Goose is dead, and you know what? Now Maverick's dying too, and that's all my goddamn fault!" And a locker door was slammed shut with so much force it made Maverick tense and almost flinch.

No, Ice never gave Maverick an elaboration on what he'd said. Didn't see him at all, in fact, until he appeared at Maverick's shoulder at the bar that evening. The rest of the pilots and RIO's were there, drinking and laughing and shouting, and Maverick had fully intended to forget everything.

Ice had other plans for him.

"Don't do this." Ice's hand on his arm made Maverick freeze.

"Why not?"

"Why not?" Dark amber eyes fixed on his face, like there was nothing else in the whirl of the bar around them, "Because, Mitchell, you can't drink away survivor's guilt and you won't ever succeed in forgetting anything, that's why."

"I haven't even had  _one!"_

"So?" Ice shrugged a shoulder, looking down at him hard, "add a zero, and that's ten."

Sometimes, his logic truly baffled Maverick.

Maverick looked at him, hiding nothing so that, in that gaze, Ice could see every contemplation, how Maverick was debating whether Ice was right, whether he could be proved wrong, and even the memory of what had happened in the locker room.

"There's a better way to forget."

"Good. Do that." Iceman went to turn away, but Maverick caught him by the elbow.

"I'll need you."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ice was never in the best of moods, but he could be pleasant when he wanted to be.

Now was not one of those times.

Slider was sprawled on the armchair, half watching the football game, half watching Ice, just waiting. Ice was languidly sprawled on the couch, looking so casual, it was almost deceiving. Slider knew something was making the pilot burn inside, simmering with anger he'd let go of God-knew-when.

Last few times, he'd unleashed all that anger on Slider, but all that had resulted in were some of the best fucks Slider had ever had, so he wasn't about to complain. All he had to complain about was the fact that Ice hadn't so much as touched him in the past couple weeks.

 _Wonder what he's so mad about,_ Slider thought, shifting his gaze from the game to Ice. Iceman didn't  _look_ mad, but Slider knew. He could tell; anyone else would be sulking and snapping and having a general tantrum, but Ice wasn't the type to show a thing.

No one else was around; a few of the guys had gone off to play volleyball, a few others gone in search of food. Slider had debated taking Wolf up on the offer to join him and Hollywood in that pursuit, but the tense set to Hollywood's jaw had convinced Slider to decline. It was hard to reach Wolfman when Hollywood was watching every move, suspicion in every look. Like he expected Slider to pounce on Wolf at any second.

"So." Iceman said slowly, deliberately, not looking at him, "You and Wolf, huh?"

"Not really." Slider was staring at him. "It's more, uh..."

"I know." Ice cut him off coolly, "So now what? You're after him because, what, you think he's with Merlin? I know that. So, what, tryin' to get at him vicariously?"

"Shut up, Ice." He wished he could have put more than a weak growl into it, but how could he? It was Ice.

"Wow, you've finally stood up for yourself."

"God, what's got  _you_ so ticked?" Slider snapped back instead, not wanting to get into that, not now, maybe not ever, "get one-night-stand-ed or something?"

"About that." Ice said flatly. Slider leaned forward, arched an eyebrow, said nothing. Ice looked up at the ceiling. "I'm sleeping with Maverick."

He'd always been one for bluntness, after all.

He'd always known what he'd wanted, and he'd always done his damndest to get it whenever he felt he deserved it. And when Ice knew he wanted something, he  _knew_ it.

Slider had always been the indecisive one. He was the kid who liked chocolate  _and_ vanilla ice cream best, who played two sports and never did decide if he was a dog person or a cat person; he was the student who would have double-majored in science and history, who wanted to be a RIO because he wanted to be in a plane, but he also wanted to be with that particular pilot, who was an annoying bunkmate because he never could decide if he liked the top or bottom bunk better. Slider was the one who never could pick just one of anything. Ice's cool confidence, or Merlin's bright humor. For the first time, he was going to have to decide. Even as those amber eyes watched him, he could see the forest-green-eyed gaze in his mind. And later, he knew, it would be the other way around.

"I can't believe you're doing that."

"Why?" Ice sneered, "jealous?"

That, Ice visibly reflected, had been a mistake. Slider's expression told him, straight-up, that  _yes,_ goddamnit, maybe he  _was,_ and was Ice really going to be that much of a bastard about it?

Ice sighed, looked at him, and in his mind, Slider saw green.

"He's just using me for the sex."

Somehow, with just those words, Slider saw everything there was about what was going on between Ice and Maverick.

And then any jealousy he had felt disappeared, like the smoke that wafted into the ever-blue sky to vanish among the clouds, where sunlight's last traces gave way to the darkness that was always, always beyond the sky.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Maverick always woke up first, and always snuck out before Ice was awake. He always felt a stab of guilt about it, but really, it was that or risk talking about what was going on, and Maverick was decidedly not keen on that. But he always felt like a jerk through and through when he snuck off, even though he knew (well,  _assumed)_ that Ice didn't think too much into what they were doing. At the moment, that irresistible body was along Maverick's, and moving seemed unthinkable. Ice was pressed against his back, one arm around his waist. Slipping out of that embrace always left Maverick with a cold, empty feeling, like he this method was far too close to his usual motto: fuck 'em and forget 'em. How many times had Goose warned him against that? How many times had he said that one day Maverick would regret it, that one day he'd go and fall in love and not know what to do besides run away? Granted, the RIO been more than a little inebriated, but Goose still gave damn good advice, no matter how drunk he was. And Maverick had ignored it how many times? Too many, Goose had always sighed, way too many.

It was five AM. Maverick didn't usually run out until five thirty. It was sort of sickening, that he had a schedule. (eleven thirty, go home with Ice. Twelve, get back to Ice's place and surprise him every single time by shoving him up against something and attacking him. And then, five thirty, hightail it out like he was a vandalizer afraid of being caught). He didn't even know how long it was until Ice found that he'd gone. An hour? Thirty minutes? Three?

Sometimes Maverick was amazed that Ice kept letting him come back.  _Someone did this to me, I'd never see them again._ Maverick thought, staring down at the sheet. The thought made him freeze up. He'd never been much good at what his mother had called the "golden rule" (it hadn't been 'always win', as six-year-old Maverick had guessed). Personal interest always seemed to get in the way of that pesky rule, but now, Maverick couldn't help but imagine what it would be like, to be on the other side.

Pretty fucking miserable, if he was going to be perfectly honest about it.

Well, Maverick tried to console himself and his fractured conscience, it wasn't like he'd done it that many times. Then again, sixteen was a pretty big number, but not..  _that_ big. Maverick scowled. So much for honesty; he couldn't even be honest with himself. He'd slept with Ice sixteen times and left every single time afterwards and- he forced himself to think it-that had been a pretty cruel thing to do. They had yet to do so much as talk about what was going on between them.

And now, now he had to wonder what Ice could possibly  _tell_ himself after that.

Maverick would have been filled with indignant anger, but after that had faded away, he would have been, inevitably, left feeling like he just wasn't good enough to warrant that much attention and investment. And after all that, he'd just feel used and hurt. Behind him, Ice moaned and shifted in his sleep, holding Maverick a little tighter. Maverick trailed his fingertip along Ice's hand, amused as ever at how warm Ice was. He would have assumed that the man would be as cold as he acted, but he seemed to run a good ten degrees hotter than anyone else. Maverick himself was freezing; a window was left open and all the covers were on the floor. He continued his touch over Ice's palm, his wrist, back and forth over the smooth, warm skin. Sunlight had started creeping across the bed by then, giving him more light to see by, and even though that meant he was staying too long for his comfort, he didn't move just yet.

If he looked, really,  _really_ looked closely, he could see marks. Maybe... two. No. Three. Definitely three. Perfectly aligned straight lines, far faded, like they'd once been almost deep wounds. Kind of like a radiator's slats, and Maverick smirked at the thought of the composed Ice being ditzy enough to hit his wrist on a red-hot radiator and burn himself. Then again, the man could make walking into a door look cool, so Maverick doubted it had been much of a show. Maverick kept staring, lost in the thoughts of what that might look like, the Ice-running-into-a-door-and-still-looking-hot thing, when another realization started creeping up on him. Exactly how likely was it that Ice had gotten burned on a damn  _radiator?_ Just as unlikely as him having any other accident that led to such weirdly symmetrical scars.

But if it hadn't been  _accidental..._

"What the fuck did you  _do?!"_ Maverick himself flinched when he heard his shout; Ice reflexively shoved him away and groaned.

"What the hell is your problem, Mav?" He was nearly shivering as he reached around to find the blankets. "It's six fucking AM and-" He scooped the blankets off the floor and shot Maverick a questioning look, "I almost don't recognize you."

"Why's that?" Maverick had the haunting feeling that he was being set up. Ice sneered.

"I've never seen you in the morning before."

Okay, he'd earned that one.

"I, um-" Maverick frowned- damn Ice, he'd wanted to talk about  _that_ and had gotten the subject all switched- "will talk about that later."

"Sure you will." Ice just looked at him, unreadable as ever. It was these intermediate points in emotion that unnerved Maverick the most. He could tell when Ice was in a good or terrible mood, but everything in between was a mystery, and that had proved dangerous to him.

"You don't have to be so-" But Maverick stopped that sentence right there, because it would take him nowhere but hell. Ice gave a rather menacing air-bite and said nothing.  _Bite me,_ his silence was snarling, as he finally gave up and curled back up under the blankets. "I wasn't done."

"So that's why you're still here."

"Can we-" Maverick drew in a breath, running a hand over his dark hair, "Can we talk about you for a second?" There was a brief silence.

"Why?" God, but he sounded suspicious. Maverick reached out and curled his fingers around Ice's wrist.

"This is why."

Ice paled a little, but didn't say anything about it.

"You know it's six in the morning, right? So would you mind regaining your sanity any time now and either sleeping or shutting up? Either one will do."

"Ice-" Maverick drew in a sharp breath, tightening his grip, "this is kind of important."

Other people didn't have to prove they had emotions; it was terrible that the only evidence of Ice's were on his skin.

"This?" Ice tossed him one last chance to back out. Common sense told Maverick to take it.

"Yeah, this. This you and what you're doing thing."

"No, because  _that's_ over. It's been a long time. You're years too late to worry about  _that._ " He pushed himself up, wrist motionless in Maverick's grasp, "you wanna talk about how I feel, fine. You can't talk about how  _you_ feel, but, sure, let's talk about me." Maverick searched Ice's face for some sign of something besides anger.

He didn't find anything.

"Are you sure you want to do that?"

Ice glared at him for a long moment and then, in one swift motion, had pulled away and slid off the bed. "I don't know about you, but I'd like to be on time to the debriefing today. And unless you'd like to wear  _my_ clothing and broadcast to the entire school that you're  _fucking_ me, you'd better get back to your place." He disappeared into the bathroom and the hiss of the shower told Maverick that the conversation was most assuredly over. Harsh as it was, Maverick knew he'd deserved that, too. He felt, if possible, worse than he had before, seeing the blatant evidence that his actions were truly getting to the other pilot.

There was no debrief; hell, there wasn't any school at all.

Ice was staring down at his wrist, as if he could still see the imprints of Maverick's fingers there. It had been years and years since razor blade had last bit his skin, and now, he had distanced himself enough from what had happened so it was no longer truly part of him... but he sometimes truly hated the evidence of it.

And he knew he was redirecting his anger at Mav in a circle back at himself, and that it wasn't good for him, but he couldn't help it. Ice would start out angry with  _him_ and somehow, it would get twisted into blaming himself for everything that had, and  _hadn't_ happened, and wasn't that always the case concerning Maverick? Ice had just come to the conclusion that he'd never be good enough, and that getting Mav just nights would be enough.

Half an hour was as long as he could drag the shower out, in the hope that Maverick would have left by now. Ice came to the realization that the only piece of clothing he'd managed to grab were boxers and that, eventually, he'd have to go back into the bedroom, whether Maverick was there or not. He rubbed at the steam that had fogged up the mirror, glowering at his own reflection. He almost preferred his last awkward whatever-this-was, with Slider. At least there, he'd been perfectly clear on what was going on. And maybe it had worked; he had Maverick now, didn't he? It might have been because using Slider to make him jealous had worked, he didn't even know. Ice would have felt guilty about it if Slider hadn't been doing the exact same back to him. He wasn't sure what Slider was to him, to be honest. He hovered between "best friend" and "absolutely nothing", but for that time, it had been obvious. Slider had been using him to get someone. Just like Ice had been using him.

But this was different. This was for himself, and this wasn't working.

It was ridiculous that Maverick could keep him out of his own bedroom. and it was downright pathetic that he'd been in the shower for the past half hour just to hide from Maverick. And he still wasn't gone, Ice realized, groaning inwardly when Maverick appeared in the doorway.

"I'm not much good at apologizing." He hung onto the doorframe with one hand, clad only in his jeans. "But I figured that I need to, because... there's no school today."

"That's your great reason?" Ice trailed a fingertip around the sink. "Does that have  _any_ relation to  _anything_ in any world besides your own?"

"Yeah, Ice. It means something." Maverick was staring down at the ground. "It means you're a wreck and it means that we're not even anymore."

"And  _what_ does that mean?"

"I used to think that it was... that it was okay, that I was screwing with you. Because you were beating yourself up about the jetwash, so I figured, okay, we were even, we'd both hurt each other." Maverick's hand hold on the doorframe tightened, "But I guess that's not the best way of thinking of it. Especially seeing as I've obviously done worse."

"What're you talking about, Mav?"

"It wasn't your fault." Maverick said evenly. "And I was wrong to get back at you for something you didn't even do. Even if you  _had_ done something, this..." His jaw tightened, "this would be a pretty cruel way to get at you anyways."

"I'm fine." Ice insisted, no conviction to his words. Maverick just looked at him, like  _liar,_ and walked back into the bedroom.

It was like a magnetic pull. Ice crawled back onto the bed, lying down next to Maverick.

"I'm fine." But at those words, Maverick just shook his head, pushing himself up and climbing over Ice to flop down behind him. He tossed an arm over Ice's waist, curling up against his back. He could feel the tension in every muscle, rubbing his hand over Ice's arm.

For Ice, such a narcissist, to mar his own perfect skin... he must have been feeling..

"So.. is that what made you so...."

"Cold?" Ice trailed a fingertip down Maverick's arm. "No. Although I suppose it didn't help much."

"So then what..? Did something happen?" He felt Ice shiver at the proximity, as Maverick whispered into his ear. "Was there something?"

There was no denying that this was a touchy subject. He could see it.

"No. Nothing actually happened, nothing significant, which, I suppose, just makes it even worse." Maverick pressed a kiss to his neck, nuzzling against him.

He knew what he could say, and what he would have said if things were different.

"It's okay. Even that looks good on you."

"You would think so."

"I do think so." Maverick scooted in closer.

"Why do you let me come back?"

"Because" And he could have said anything, and Maverick was scared of what he'd do, if Ice said something like... like  _because I love you,_ because Maverick wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to handle that.

"Why?" He prompted again.

"Maybe I just like all the danger."

Even as Maverick wondered why Ice let him come back, he wondered why he kept coming back. And he wondered why he'd finally stayed.

The previous evening with Charlie hadn't been like that; he'd taken her home and gone in search of Ice. The evening had been lackluster. And Charlie kept talking about  _weddings_ in June.

Maverick wasn't about to admit that when he thought of June he thought of, to be perfectly honest, shirtless Ice, beach volleyball, drinking. In that order.

Ice was his June.

Maybe that was why he'd stayed.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hollywood had left the bar a few minutes earlier, so he missed the conversation. Slider had intended that; if Hollywood had been there, Slider wouldn't have dared try.

As it were, it didn't work.

Slider was looking down at the pilot, who was tense and reluctant.

"I don't-" Wolf stammered, eyes downcast, "Don't wanna talk about Merlin."

"Oh." Slider fell silent. "Just wanted to know if he's... you know. a hundred percent hetero or what."

"Merlin?" Short, bitter laugh, "Well, he's no straight boy, no doubt about that."

And Slider almost asked, almost,  _what did he do to you,_ but that wasn't a question for him.

Hollywood had missed that conversation, had missed how Slider knew that question wasn't meant for him to ask.

Hollywood, however. Hollywood didn't  _care_ if it was a question for him, because it was a question that mattered.

Wolf slammed into him rounding the corner, and as Hollywood steadied him, he caught a glance of beyond them in the light of the streetlamp, saw Merlin standing there, looking at the ground. Rain could be seen at the edges of the light, rain he was only just starting to feel. And he felt Wolf trembling under his hands and swore he heard Wolf trying not to cry. Wolf was rubbing at his eyes with his hand, breathing hitching. Anger swelled up in Hollywood, the urge to protect him, to go deck Merlin and teach him not to mess with Wolf.

"What did he do to you?"

"N-nothing" Wolf kept his head hung, but Hollywood gently tilted his chin up, forced Wolf to look at him and he could see the lie in his eyes.

From around the corner, he could hear the music from the bar, so faraway, the song Hollywood swore to God they played on a loop just because it caught memories like it was honey.

_You're trying hard not to show it..._

"Wolf..." His gaze flickered from Wolf's sad brown eyes to the light, and Merlin was gone. Even if he wasn't there, Hollywood could still feel that anger seething in him, for leaving Wolf so- so  _broken._ "What was going on?"

"Nothing." His voice was raw and hoarse, and there was the hitch of a sob.

"It's not nothing, Wolf." That was painfully obvious. But Wolf was shaking his head and looking away.

"Nothing" his insistence was quavering.

"I can tell it's not nothing. What is it?" Hollywood fought to keep the harsh insistence from his voice, "what did he  _do to you?"_

" _Nothing!"_ Wolf tried to shove him away, but the push was weak and even though he managed to make it a few shaking steps backwards, Hollywood caught Wolf up in his arms before Wolf could collapse. And when Wolf started sobbing into his chest, Hollywood was surprised, but he couldn't say he was shocked. "He did it again, Wood, he did it again, I thought he wouldn't, I really thought he wouldn't, but he  _did,_ he  _did..."_ His hands fisted tight in Hollywood's shirt, clutching and not letting go, "he did it to me  _again"_ The broken whisper dissolved into sobs that wracked the lithe frame, and Hollywood encircled Wolf in his arms, holding him up, holding Wolf against him.

"What did he do?" The rain had started to fall heavier, soaking through his clothes, chilling him. The cold only served to contrast the heat against his chest, the hot tears he could feel.

"The same thing. He did the same fucking thing because I let him, because I was stupid enough to think it'd be different. But it's the same, because he's the same and I'm the same and nothing changed because I'm still not good enough for him and I never will be, because I'm always gonna be  _me_ and not- not  _him-"_ And when he broke down in quiet sobs again, Hollywood felt tears threatening too. "I thought it'd be  _different_  this time. But it was the exact fucking  _same_  and I was so, so  _stupid..."_

"What happened, Wolf?" Hollywood tried again, keeping his tone gentle, "please?" He rubbed Wolf's back in gentle circles, holding him tight, "please?"

"Third... third fucking time." Wolf whimpered, and Hollywood could feel Wolf's tears on his skin. "First time was in flight school and then a while ago and then I thought this time it'd be different and he'd be different, but he's  _not,_ he's  _not_ and he's never  _going_ to be... and every goddamn time it's the same thing, every time he just fucks me and lets me think it means something and every single time, he says it's not going to work out and that it didn't mean anything, but- but- it meant something to  _me!_ " Hollywood was still trying to process that new information as Wolf stumbled on, "And Merlin wants  _him_ more, he always does, and I'm just not good enough" Hollywood could just feel his own heart breaking.

"Wolf, of course you're good enough" He didn't even want to think about how the words were so, so easy to find, simply because they were natural, "You're too good for him. He doesn't deserve you." But words just couldn't reach Wolf, who was still trembling in his arms.

"But I want him to want me." Wolf was whispering.

_You've lost that loving feeling..._

"Look, Wolf... if he wants someone else, he's not going to change his mind. He'll just keep trying to make you into them, and when that doesn't work, he'll dump you every time. It's a stupid, fucked in the head plan, and you deserve better than that, because you're  _better_ than that." He was, Hollywood knew that like he could feel its truth, but- but no one was treating Wolf like that. It was too easy to see how Wolf could believe he wasn't, because Merlin kept leaving him and Slider was using him to get to Merlin, and Hollywood himself had never even noticed.

"It's just not fair." Wolf whispered, face buried in Hollywood's chest, mumbled something that sounded like heartbreak. "It's just not." He managed. "I don't wanna lose Merlin." Hollywood looked down into the tear streaked face, "I'm still not good enough for him." And then his eyes had welled with tears and he turned his face back into Hollywood's chest, grip on him tightening, whispering, "I just want him to want me like I want him." God, but Hollywood couldn't stand to see him cry.

_It makes me just feel like crying, 'cause baby, something beautiful's dying._

"Why?" he ventured, looking down at the shivering form held against him. Wolf drew in a breath, pulling away so Hollywood had to let him go, step back a few feet.

"Because" Wolf managed, wiping away tears, looking so heartbroken that Hollywood just ached to hold him tight. In their silence, the noise from the bar could be heard, the strains of that song.

_And I can't go on..._

"You shouldn't." He suddenly felt cold without Wolf in his arms. "You're  _better_ than that."

"I can't help it." Wolf looked up into the rain, anywhere but at Hollywood, biting his lip hard, "It's the stupidest fucking thing I've ever done, but I love him."

_You've lost that loving feeling..._

It shouldn't have been a confession, Hollywood thought, shouldn't have been something Wolf didn't appear to have ever admitted even to himself, something he wished he didn't feel. Hollywood gently pulled Wolf back into his arms and then, then Wolf was sobbing so hard he couldn't catch his breath, because it was obvious now, it was painfully obvious that there was nothing worse that could have happened to him. All Hollywood could do was hold him, as the rain poured down and Wolf's heart broke even more.

_Now it's gone, gone, gone..._

How much, Hollywood wondered, could a heart break? Was there ever a point where there was nothing left to break?

Was Wolf almost there?


	6. Chapter 6

It was, in all honesty, a very weak excuse to have a party. The school had been given a new plane, to replace one with a broken engine; Sundown and Merlin had somehow managed to talk Jester into letting them borrow his house to throw a party. Hollywood half suspected it was just a gimmick to rise morale in general. It had been painfully low as of late, mostly because of how Goose's death weighed heavily on everyone's shoulders, an unwelcome reminder of their own mortality. And, individually, moods were apathetic at best. Maverick was mourning Goose, Iceman was sulking about something, Slider was tense and Merlin was edgy, Hollywood himself was short-tempered, but he supposed that was just the stress of trying to keep Wolf from falling apart. It wasn't an easy task, considering how he'd missed the doomed relationship that had led up to it.

Hollywood had been wondering how to ask Wolf if he was going; doubtlessly, Wolf was going to ask whose idea it was. Stressing about it had almost lost him the dogfight, and he decided to get it over with before even reaching the ground. Hollywood tried to plan how to avoid it.

It was hard to focus; Wolf was humming, and it was pretty distracting.

"Hey, Wolf," Hollywood called over his shoulder, "goin' to the party tonight?" Wolf's absent-minded humming ceased.

"What party?"

"Celebrating the new plane."

Wolf laughed at that. "Yeah, sure. Whose idea was that, anyways?"

"Uh…" Hollywood started easing the plane closer to the ground, "Sundown and someone or other."

"Well, sure" Wolf sounded cheerful, "sounds fun!"

Hollywood had to wonder how long he could dodge that bullet; probably as long as Wolf had kept the information from him, he figured. What really got to Hollywood was how he'd had  _no idea_ what Wolf had been going through, all that time. Every single day, he'd had no clue that something was wrong. Wolf had seemed perfectly happy, talking nonstop and humming in the mic's and becoming Hollywood's better half, but he'd had no idea. None at all. Going on that, Hollywood supposed Wolf didn't  _need_ to be protected like this, but all the same, Hollywood couldn't resist the instinct to keep Wolf from getting hurt. He couldn't do much, he knew that, but if he could dull the pain even a little, Hollywood was going to try.

Hollywood had very high hopes for the party, and so far, he wasn't disappointed. Tonight, it was far more likely Wolfman would die of laughter than a broken heart, and Hollywood wouldn't have it any other way. Seeing his RIO so broken was unbearable. Like the whole world had just shifted, into some surreal degree where it didn't belong.

"You can't have five aces! You just  _can't!"_ God, but Hollywood had missed the way laughter ran rampant through that southern drawl.

"Watch me!" Rio slammed down his hand- five aces- and snatched Wolf's meager collection of pen caps and coins.

"No way, man, that's cheating!" Sundown rolled his eyes, "if you're gonna cheat, at least do it in a  _subtle_ way."

"Good policy" Hollywood laid his cards face down on the small table, "is that why you keep winning?"

"I'm just  _sayin',"_ Sundown made a face at him, "that it's impossible to have five aces when we're using one deck, it's not exactly subtle."

The rest of the group was watching an action movie, while the four played poker at a little table in a corner of the room. It didn't escape Hollywood's notice that Wolf would glance over at the other half of the room, and he was completely aware when Wolf's expression suddenly went dark. Hollywood chanced a glance, and saw Merlin and Slider slipping past them, out to the back porch.

Hollywood could practically see what happened out there, just by looking at Wolf's face.

 _So it's him, then._ Hollywood watched the way barely-concealed misery resurfaced, saw that Wolf hadn't been fine at all, all that time,  _Merlin was trying to make Wolf into Slider and couldn't. They're nothing alike. Wolf can't be even second best to someone so different._

"You okay?" he asked, as Sundown and Rio wandered away from the table, bickering about wins and losses and cheating. Wolf's gaze snapped over to him.

"Yeah."

"You lying to me?" Hollywood asked, and Wolf ducked his head.

"Yeah."

Hollywood was just thankful Wolf was easy to distract. One mention of some weird card game he'd heard about, and Wolf was babbling about something he'd seen, not a card game, but a game with cards, he said, (hell if Hollywood understood what he meant by that) and then Wolf was sticking a card flat over his mouth and demonstrating, catching the ends between his teeth.

"And I'm supposed to do, uh, what?" Hollywood smirked. Sundown and Rio had since disappeared, to scream about the movie with the rest of the guys, leaving him and Wolf alone in their corner. Wolf let the card flutter to the table.

"See, you kinda bite the edges and the card stays on your mouth, and then you have to pass it to the next person! My friend played it in college with this girl, and- " Wolf flushed a light scarlet, "well, yeah, it was a cool game." It was damn cute, really, how coy he could be. His gaze flickered over to the other half of the room for a moment, then back to Hollywood's face, like he could pretend he'd never been looking at all.

"Show me that again?" Hollywood asked, and Wolf obliged, grinning. Hollywood went to take the card from him, and he couldn't say for sure if it was intentionally or a sweet coincidence, but the card fell and his lips met Wolf's instead.

Hollywood knew it was going to shatter his already crystal-fragile balancing act, but- but he'd do anything to help Wolf forget. He couldn't bring himself to care that he was only confusing himself further, only making everything more tangled and harder to figure out, but all he could think about was how Wolf hadn't been himself since the argument with Merlin. How maybe, in all the time Hollywood had known his RIO, maybe Wolf had never been entirely himself.

But in that moment it felt like, maybe for the first time, Wolf wasn't thinking about Merlin.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Maverick was looking for Iceman.

Twenty minutes ago, he'd been wandering around the school, hoping he would, by chance, run into Iceman, but had since given up the pretense and could admit to himself that, yes, he was in fact actively searching for Ice. He chose yet another hallway, peeked in all the classrooms. Ice was nowhere. He'd disappeared after the dogfight; Ice had won, but the maneuvers weren't made with his usual calculated precision, and Maverick was finally starting to admit to himself that he was worried.

He pulled open the door to the locker room, stuck his head inside. Maverick had a short battle with his conscience, and slipped inside the doorway, tiptoeing past the back of the lockers until he could crouch down behind a laundry basket.

"Back the fuck off, Slider." Maverick recognized Ice's tone. He knew what a mistake it was to ignore its warning.

"Ice." Slider tried again, as Maverick heard the locker room door wrenched open, "why's he killing you like this?"

Maverick felt ice start to steal across his heart at those words.

"He doesn't know" Iceman said quietly, "he doesn't know."

The door slammed shut, and the echo resonated before sinking into silence.

Xxxxxxxxx

"Now that's what I call genius." Sundown stood in the middle of the rec room, watching Rio teeter atop a small ladder, affixing a pulley to the ceiling.

"That's what I call overkill." Hollywood flopped down on the couch, looking up at Rio. "Why the hell are you tying the remote to that contraption?"

"You'll see. It's Superbowl season, man. Desperate times and all that…" Rio clamped the screwdriver between his teeth as he fixed the string on the pulley. "'is way we can keep th' r'mote away throm th'm."

"So we can keep the remote away from them," came Sundown's translation, "you see, hockey's on at the same time. And if we keep the remote away, you hockey maniacs can't get it away from us."

"It's sheer brilliance." Rio hopped down, nearly knocking the stepladder down as he did so, "watch this." He knotted the string around the TV remote, and set it on the table, "go ahead, Sundown." Sundown obliged, yanking on the other end of the string. The remote shot up to the ceiling.

"Y'all're gonna smash that thing against the ceiling." Wolf strolled across the room and settled himself in Hollywood's lap like he owned it. "Can ya? It'd be cool to watch."

" _No."_ Rio was pouting, wiggling the string to get it uncaught from the pulley, "It's to save the remote so the not-football-watchers can't get at it."

"Very… thorough." Wolf had sprawled across Hollywood's lap, and had tilted the brim of his hat up to see the pulley on the ceiling. "Can't just hide it, can ya?"

"Hiding is for amateurs" Rio scoffed, grabbing the leashed remote and throwing himself into an armchair. The motion was pointless, however; as soon as he turned on the game, a touchdown was scored and Rio and Sundown had both jumped up cheering. Hollywood was rather pleased to see that Wolf didn't join them as he usually would, just stayed settled where he was, leaning back against Hollywood's chest. Hollywood rested his chin on Wolf's shoulder and said absolutely nothing. There was plenty he knew he should say- should ask where they were supposed to go from here, ask whether Merlin was still Wolf's end-all-be-all, ask to have what he couldn't admit to wanting. He could practically still taste Wolf on his lips.

Hollywood knew he was in more of a mess than before; the only thing he wanted was another kiss from Wolfman.

Even though Wolf had restricted himself to the one man who would never want him back.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Maverick was starting to get used to the calm, sunlit mornings. He always woke up first, but it was increasingly easier to convince himself to stay.  _What if he makes breakfast later? He can cook better than I can. And what if I wanted to take a shower before I leave and ran out of shampoo? I don't know where the new bottle is. What if I left and realized I'd forgotten something? Then he wouldn't let me back in,_ Maverick let his thoughts meander in the quiet morning,  _What if he needs me?_ He trailed his fingertip over Ice's arm,  _if he did, I would want to be here._ It wasn't going to happen, he knew it, but it was a convincing thought. Even if Ice never showed any sign of need, or about any other emotion, Maverick knew he felt it.

After all, the evidence was right there on Ice's wrists.

Maverick knew that, despite all other reasons, that was why he stayed.

Maverick twisted around in Ice's loose embrace, turning his face into Ice's chest. Ice's words were still resonating in his mind, had been since the previous day. It wasn't what Maverick had expected to find haunting his thoughts. That Ice was plagued with guilt for killing Goose- Maverick couldn't blame him. He could blame the entire world, had already blamed himself, and the fate that had placed them in the air at that exact moment in time, but he couldn't focus any blame on Ice.

 _He doesn't know,_ Ice had said,  _he doesn't know._

Maverick hated that he'd hurt Ice so much. That Ice wouldn't-couldn't- tell him. He didn't want to dwell on it- not about what had happened, what he'd done, why he cared so deeply- Maverick just couldn't. He snuggled closer to Ice, holding on tight.

"You're more reliable than an alarm clock," Ice mumbled, waking slowly, "lemme guess. Seven-thirty?"

"How'd you know?"

"I think the earth would crash out of orbit if you woke up one minute before or after it." He ran a hand over Maverick's back slowly, "good thing, too."

"Yeah?"

"If it was six AM, you'd be sleepin' on the floor."

"Thanks."

"You're here, aren't you? Be grateful, it beats the floor, or bathtub, or whatever." Maverick could hear the smile in Ice's voice.

"You know even if I was sleeping in the bathtub, you'd wanna be there with me."

"So?"

"That's pathetic."

"You're really askin' to get kicked out of here." Ice nudged him, and Maverick laughed softly.

"Want me to say sorry and kiss it better?" Maverick pushed himself up on one elbow and pressed a kiss to Ice's lips, before curling back up against Ice's hard chest. "Now quit complaining."

"You're just a fountain of sympathy."

Maverick mumbled some sort of reply. "How can you be so warm?" Mav asked distantly, slipping one hand around Ice's back, skin warm against his palm. "It's funny that you're not all cold. Maybe you can't feel it 'cuz it's just your heart that's ice?"

That he could see so much fury in Ice's glare was alarming.

"That came out really, really wrong, you know…"

"Yeah, sure it did." Ice snapped, "Wouldn't say it if you didn't think it, Mav. That's all I am to you, isn't it?" He'd drawn away, glaring down at Maverick. Maverick grimaced.

"I meant... I didn't mean that. I didn't. You're not. It's not. It didn't. I didn't. I shouldn't have." He pushed Ice back down, straddling Ice's hips and looking down into those amber eyes, "I'm sorry." Maverick drew in a slow breath, "you're more than that to me."

"Yeah?" Ice's gaze was unforgiving, "Sure doesn't seem like it."

"You are. You're... to me, you're something you aren't to anyone else."

"What?"

Ice's gaze was unforgiving, hurt lurking behind the anger in those amber eyes, but it would take even longer for Maverick to forgive himself for what he'd said. Ice was right. Sometimes, Maverick couldn't help thinking of Ice, first and foremost, as a rival pilot. Restricted himself to think of Ice in those parameters, to keep whatever it was they had within the bounds of what he could handle.

It was a mistake, but it was one he kept making.

Maverick leaned down, pressed a soft kiss to Ice's lips, "You're Tom."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Charlie considered herself an expert on Iceman's cologne. Or that of any of the pilots or RIO's, in fact. She'd spent enough time debriefing that she'd become familiar with it. Between all the individual meetings and lectures, she knew. Maverick's, she knew, was called  _Temptation._ On date nights like tonight, normally, that scent would be there and make her swoon.

Iceman's was probably called  _Deep Night_ or  _Dominance_ or  _Ultimate_ or something rogue-sounding like that, but he wore it like it was called  _Arrogance._ Admittedly, a nice scent. When welcome.

Tonight, it was not purely  _Temptation._

She could smell Ice on Maverick.


End file.
